highways like the golden bracelets of yore)--who have made _John Jones_
religious through his pocket, are men of comprehensive genius. There is no
wickedness that they would not make profitable to the Church. Hence, it
appears from Lord BROUGHAM'S speech that _John Jones_ "was guilty of
_other excesses_, and had been sent to prison for a violation of that
dormant--he wished he could say of it obsolete--law!" There being "other
excesses" for which, it appears, there is no statute remedy, the
magistrates commit a piece of pious injustice, and lump sundry laical sins
into the one crime against the Church. _John Jones_,--for who shall
conceive the profanity of man?--may have called one of these magistrates
"goose" or "jackass;" and the offence against the justice is a contempt of
the parson. After this, can the race of _John Joneses_ fail to venerate
Christianity as recommended by the Bench?
We have a great admiration of English Law, yet in the present instance, we
think she shares very unjustly with Mother Church. For instance, Church in
its meekness, says to _John Jones_, "You come not to my house on Sunday:
pay a shilling." _John Jones_ refuses. "What!" exclaims Law--"refuse the
modest request of my pious sister? Refuse to give her a little shilling!
Give me _fourteen_." Hence, in this Christian country, law is of fourteen
times the consequence of religion.
Applauding as we do the efforts of the magistrates quoted by Lord BROUGHAM
in the cause of Christianity, we yet conscientiously think their system
capable of improvement. When the Rustic Police shall be properly
established, we think they should be empowered to seize upon all suspected
non-church goers every Saturday night, keeping them in the station-houses
until Sunday morning, and then marching them, securely handcuffed, up the
middle aisle of the parish church. 'Twould be a touching sight for Mr.
PLUMPTREE, and such hard-sweating devotees. For the benefit of old
offenders, we would also counsel a little wholesome private whipping in
the vestry.
Q.
* * * * *
PUNCH'S PENCILLINGS.--No. XIII.
[Illustration: MR. SANCHO BULL AND HIS STATE PHYSICIAN.
"Though surrounded with luxuries, the Doctor would not allow Sancho to
partake of them, and dismissed each dish as it was brought in by the
servants."--_Vide_ DON QUIXOTE.]
* * * * *
SWEET AUTUMN DAYS.
Sweet Autumn days, sweet Autumn days,
When, harvest o'er, the reaper slumbers,
How gratefully I hymn your praise,
In modest but melodious numbers.
But if I'm ask'd why 'tis I make
Autumn the theme of inspiration,
I'll tell the truth, and no mistake--
With Autumn comes the long vacation.
Of falsehoods I'll not shield me with a tissue--
Autumn I love--because _no writs then issue_.
Others may hail the joys of Spring,
When birds and buds alike are growing;
Some the Summer days may sing,
When sowing, mowing, on are going.
Old Winter, with his hoary locks,
His frosty face and visage murky,
May suit some very jolly cocks,
Who like roast-beef, mince-pies, and turkey:
But give me Autumn--yes, I'm Autumn's child--
For then--_no declarations can be filed_.
* * * * *
TOM CONNOR'S DILEMMA.
A TRUE TALE.
SHOWING HOW READY WIT MAY SUPPLY THE PLACE OF READY MONEY.
Tom Connor was a perfect specimen of the happy, careless, improvident
class of Irishmen who think it "time enough to bid the devil good morrow
when they meet him," and whose chief delight seems to consist in getting
into all manner of scrapes, for the mere purpose of displaying their
ingenuity of getting out of them again. Tom, at the time I knew him, had
passed the meridian of his life; "he had," as he used to say himself,
"given up battering," and had luckily a small annuity fallen to him by the
demise of a considerate old aunt who had kindly popped off in the nick of
time. And on this independence Tom had retired to spend all that remained
to him of a merry life at a pleasant little sea-port town in the West of
Ireland, celebrated for its card-parties and its oyster-clubs. These
latter social meetings were held by rotation at the houses of the members
of the club, which was composed of the choicest spirits of the town. There
Doctor McFadd, relaxing the dignity of professional reserve, condescended
to play practical jokes on Corney Bryan, the bothered exciseman; and
Skinner, the attorney, repeated all Lord Norbury's best puns, and night
after night told how, at some particular quarter sessions, he had himself
said a better thing than ever Norbury uttered in his life. But the soul of
the club was Tom Connor--who, by his inexhaustible fund of humorous
anecdotes and droll stories, kept the table in a roar till a late hour in
the night, or rather to an early hour in the morning. Tom's stories
usually related to adventures which had happened to himself in his early
days; and as he had experienced innumerable vicissitudes of fortune, in
every part of the world, and under various characters, his narratives,
though not remarkable for their strict adherence to truth, were always
distinguished by their novelty.
One evening the club had met as usual, and Tom had mixed his first tumbler
of potheen punch, after "the feast of shells" was over, when somebody
happened to mention the name of Edmund Kean, with the remark that he had
once played in a barn in that very town.
"True enough," said Tom. "I played in the same company with him."
"You! you!" exclaimed several voices.
"Of course; but that was when I was a strolling actor in Clark's corps. We
used to go the western circuit, and by that means got the name of 'the
Connaught Rangers.' There was a queer fellow in the company, called Ned
Davis, an honest-hearted fellow he was, as ever walked in shoe leather.
Ned and I were sworn brothers; we shared the same bed, which was often
only a 'shake-down' in the corner of a stable, and the same dinner, which
was at times nothing better than a crust of brown bread and a draught of
Adam's ale. I'll trouble you for the bottle, doctor. Thank you; may I
never take worse stuff from your hands. Talking of Ned Davis, I'll tell
you, if you have no objection of a strange adventure which befel us once."
"Bravo! bravo! bravo!" was the unanimous cry from the members.
"Silence, gentlemen!" said the chairman imperatively; "silence for Mr.
Connor's story."
"Hem! Well then, some time about the year--never mind the year--Ned and I
were playing with the company at Loughrea; business grew bad, and the
salaries diminished with the houses, until at last, one morning at a
rehearsal, the manager informed us that, in consequence of the depressed
state of the drama in Galway, the treasury would be closed until further
notice, and that he had come to the resolution to depart on the following
morning for Castlebar, whither he requested the company to follow him
without delay. Fancy my consternation at this unexpected announcement! I
mechanically thrust my hands into my pockets, but they were completely
untenanted. I rushed home to our lodgings, where I had left Ned Davis; he,
I knew, had received a guinea the day before, upon which I rested my hopes
of deliverance. I found him fencing with his walking-stick with an
imaginary antagonist, whom he had in his mind pinned against a
closet-door. I related to him the sudden move the manager had made, and
told him, in the most doleful voice conceivable, that I was not possessed
of a single penny. As soon as I had finished, he dropped into a chair, and
burst into a long-continued fit of laughter, and then looked in my face
with the most provoking mock gravity, and asked--
"What's to be done then? How are we to get out of this?"
"Why," said I, "that guinea which you got yesterday!"
"Ho! ho! ho! ho!" he shouted. "The guinea is gone."
"Gone!" I exclaimed; and I felt my knees began to shake under me.
"Gone--where--how."
"I gave it to the wife of that poor devil of a scene-shifter who broke his
arm last week; he had four children, and they were starving. What could I
do but give it to them? Had it been ten times as much they should have had
it."
I don't know what reply I made, but it had the effect of producing another
fit of uncontrollable laughter.
"Why do you laugh," said I, rather angrily.
"Who the devil could help it;" he replied; "your woe-begone countenance
would make a cat laugh."
"Well," said I, "we are in a pretty dilemma here. We owe our landlady
fifteen shillings."
"For which she will lay an embargo on our little effects--three black wigs
and a low-comedy pair of breeches--this must be prevented."
"But how?" I inquired.
"How? never mind; but order dinner directly."
"Dinner!" said I; "don't awaken painful recollections."
"Go and do as I tell you," he replied. "Order dinner--beef-steak and
oyster-sauce."
"Beef-steak! Are you mad"--but before I could finish the sentence, he had
put on his hat and disappeared.
"Who knows?" thought I, after he was gone, "he's a devilish clever fellow,
something may turn up:" so I ordered the beef-steaks. In less than an
hour, my friend returned with exultation in his looks.
"I have done it!" said he, slapping me on the back; "we shall have plenty
of money to-morrow."
I begged he would explain himself.
"Briefly then," said he, "I have been to the billiard-room, and every
other lounging-place about town, where I circulated, in the most
mysterious manner, a report that a celebrated German doctor and
philosopher, who had discovered the secret of resuscitating the dead, had
arrived in Loughrea."
"How ridiculous!" I said.
"Don't be in a hurry. This philosopher," he added, "is about to give
positive proof that he can perform what he professes, and it is his
intention to go into the churchyard to-night, and resuscitate a few of
those who have not been buried more than a twelvemonth."
"Well." said I, "what does all this nonsense come to?"
"That you must play the philosopher in the churchyard."
"Me!"
"Certainly, you're the very figure for the part."
After some persuasion, and some further development of his plan, I
consented to wrap myself in an ample stage-cloak, and gliding into the
churchyard, I waited in the porch according to the directions I had
received from Ned, until near midnight, when I issued forth, and proceeded
to examine the different tombs attentively. I was bending over one, which,
by the inscription, I perceived had been erected by "an affectionate and
disconsolate wife, to the memory of her beloved husband," when I was
startled at hearing a rustling noise, and, on looking round, to see a
stout-looking woman standing beside me.
"Doctor," said she, addressing me, "I know what you're about here."
I shook my head solemnly.
"This is my poor late husband's tomb."
"I know it," I answered. "I mean to exercise my art upon him first. He
shall be restored to your arms this very night."
The widow gave a faint scream--"I'm sure, doctor," said she, "I'm greatly
obliged to you. Peter was the best of husbands--but he has now been dead
six months--and--I am--married again."
"Humph!" said I, "the meeting will be rather awkward, but you may induce
your second husband to resign."
"No, no, doctor; let the poor man rest quietly, and here is a trifle for
your trouble." So saying, she slipped a weighty purse into my hand.
"This alters the case," said I, "materially--your late husband shall never
be disturbed by me."
The widow withdrew with a profusion of acknowledgments; and scarcely had
she gone, when a young fellow, who I learned had lately come into
possession of a handsome property by the death of an uncle, came to
request me not to meddle with the deceased, who he assured me was a
shocking old curmudgeon, who never spent his money like a gentleman. A
douceur from the young chap secured the repose of his uncle.
My next visitor was a weazel-faced man, who had been plagued for twenty
years by a shrew of a wife, who popped off one day from an overdose of
whiskey. He came to beseech me not to bring back his plague to the world;
and, pitying the poor man's case, I gave him my promise readily, without
accepting a fee.
By this time daylight had begun to appear, and creeping quietly out of the
churchyard, I returned to my lodgings. Ned was waiting up for my return.
"What luck?" said he, as I entered the room.
I showed him the fees I had received during the night.
"I told you," said he, "that we should have plenty of rhino to-day. Never
despair, man, there are more ways out of the wood than one: and recollect,
that _ready wit is as good as ready money_."
* * * * *
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF THE LONDON MEDICAL STUDENT.
II.--THE NEW MAN.
Embryology precedes the treatise on the perfect animal; it is but right,
therefore, that the new man should have our attention before the mature
student.
No sooner do the geese become asphyxiated by torsion of their cervical
_vertebrae_, in anticipation of Michaelmas-day; no sooner do the pheasants
feel premonitory warnings, that some chemical combinations between
charcoal, nitre, and sulphur, are about to take place, ending in a
precipitation of lead; no sooner do the columns of the newspapers teem
with advertisements of the ensuing courses at the various schools, each
one cheaper, and offering more advantages than any of the others; the
large hospitals vaunting their extended field of practice, and the small
ones ensuring a more minute and careful investigation of disease, than the
new man purchases a large trunk and a hat-box, buys a second-hand copy of
Quain's Anatomy, abjures the dispensing of his master's surgery in the
country, and placing himself in one of those rattling boxes denominated by
courtesy second-class carriages, enters on the career of a hospital pupil
in his first season.
The opening lecture introduces the new man to his companions, and he is
easily distinguished at that annual gathering of pupils, practitioners,
professors, and especially old hospital governors, who do a good deal in
the gaiter-line, and applaud the lecturer with their umbrellas, as they
sit in the front row. The new man is known by his clothes, which incline
to the prevalent fashion of the rural districts he has quitted; and he
evinces an affection for cloth-boots, or short Wellingtons with double
soles, and toes shaped like a toad's mouth, a propensity which sometimes
continues throughout the career of his pupilage. He likewise takes off his
hat when he enters the dissecting-room, and thinks that beautiful design
is shown in the mechanism and structure of the human body--an idea which
gets knocked out of him at the end of the season, when he looks upon the
distribution of the nerves as "a blessed bore to get up, and no use to him
after he has passed." But at first he perpetually carries a
[Illustration: "DUBLIN DISSECTOR"]
under his arm; and whether he is engaged upon a subject or no, delights to
keep on his black apron, pockets, and sleeves (like a barber dipped in a
blacking-bottle), the making of which his sisters have probably
superintended in the country, and which he thinks endows him with an air
of industry and importance.
The new man, at first, is not a great advocate for beer; but this dislike
may possibly arise from his having been compelled to stand two pots upon
the occasion of his first dissection. After a time, however, he gives way
to the indulgence, having received the solemn assurances of his companions
that it is absolutely necessary to preserve his health, and keep him from
getting the collywobbles in his pandenoodles--a description of which
obstinate disease he is told may be found in "Dr. Copland's Medical
Dictionary," and "Gregory's Practice of Physic," but as to under what head
the informant is uncertain.
The first purchase that a new man makes in London is a gigantic note-book,
a dozen steel pens on a card, and a screw inkstand. Furnished with these
valuable adjuncts to study, he puts down every thing he hears during the
day, both in the theatre of the school and the wards of the hospital,
besides many diverting diagrams and anecdotes which his fellow-students
insert for him, until at night he has a confused dream that the air-pump
in the laboratory is giving a party, at which various scalpels, bits of
gums, wax models, tourniquets, and foetal skulls, are assisting as
guests--an eccentric and philosophical vision, worthy of the brain from
which it emanates. But the new man is, from his very nature, a visionary.
His breast swells with pride at the introductory lecture, when he hears
the professor descant upon the noble science he and his companions have
embarked upon; the rich reward of watching the gradual progress of a
suffering fellow-creature to convalescence, and the insignificance of
worldly gain compared with the pure treasures of pathological knowledge;
whilst to the riper student all this resolves itself into the truth, that
three draughts, or one mixture, are respectively worth four-and-sixpence
or three shillings: that the patient should be encouraged to take them as
long as possible, and that the thrilling delight of ushering another
mortal into existence, after being up all night, is considerably increased
by the receipt of the tin for superintending the performance; _i.e._ if
you are lucky enough to get it.
It is not improbable that, after a short period, the new man will write a
letter home. The substance of it will be as follows: and the reader is
requested to preserve a copy, as it may, perhaps, be compared with another
at a future period.
"MY DEAR PARENTS,--I am happy to inform you that my health is at present
uninjured by the atmosphere of the hospital, and that I find I am making
daily progress in my studies. I have taken a lodging in ---- (Gower-place,
University-street, Little Britain, or Lant-street, as the case may be,)
for which I pay twelve shillings a week, including shoes. The mistress of
the house is a pious old lady, and I am very comfortable, with the
exception that two pupils live on the floor above me, who are continually
giving harmonic parties to their friends, and I am sometimes compelled to
request they will allow me to conclude transcribing my lecture notes in
tranquillity--a request, I am sorry to say, not often complied with. The
smoke from their pipes fills the whole house, and the other night they
knocked me up two hours after I had retired to rest, for the loan of the
jug of cold water from my washhand-stand, to make grog with, and a 'Little
Warbler,' if I had one, with the words of 'The Literary Dustman' in it.
"Independently of these annoyances, I get on pretty well, and have already
attracted the notice of my professors, who return my salutation very
condescendingly, and tell me to look upon them rather as friends than
teachers. The students here, generally speaking, are a dissipated and
irreligious set of young men; and I can assure you I am often compelled to
listen to language that quite makes my ears tingle. I have found a very
decent washerwoman, who mends for me as well; but, unfortunately, she
washes for the house, and the initials of one of the students above me are
the same as mine, so that I find our things are gradually changing hands,
in which I have the worst, because his shirts and socks are somewhat
dilapidated, or, to speak professionally, their fibrous texture abounds in
organic lesions; and the worst is, he never finds out the error until the
end of the week, when he sends my things back, with his compliments, and
thinks the washerwoman has made a mistake.
"I have not been to the theatres yet, nor do I feel the least wish to
enter into any of the frivolities of the great metropolis. With kind
regards to all at home, believe me,
"Your's affectionately,
"JOSEPH MUFF."
* * * * *
"I DO ADJURE YE, ANSWER ME!"
A valuable porcelain vase, which stood in one of the state rooms of
Windsor Castle, has been recently broken; it is suspected by design, as
the situation in which it was placed almost precludes the idea that it
could have happened by accident. A commission, called "The Flunky
Inquisition," has been appointed by Sir Robert Peel, with Sibthorp at its
head, to inquire into the affair. The gallant Colonel declares that he has
personally cross-examined all the housemaids, but that he has hitherto
been unable to obtain a satisfactory solution of
[Illustration: THE GREAT CHINA QUESTION.]
* * * * *
LIKE MASTER LIKE MAN.
SIR ROBERT PEEL'S workmen inside the House of Parliament have determined
to follow the example of the masons outside the House, if Mr. Wakley is to
be appointed their foreman.
* * * * *
INQUEST EXTRAORDINARY ON A CORONER.
Last night an inquest was held on the _Consistency_ of Thomas Wakley,
Esq., Member for Finsbury, and Coroner for Middlesex. The deceased had
been some time ailing, but his demise was at length so sudden, that it was
deemed necessary to public justice that an inquest should be taken of the
unfortunate remains.
The inquest was held at the Vicar of Bray tap, Palace Yard; and the jury,
considering the neighbourhood, was tolerably respectable. The remains of
the deceased were in a dreadful state of decomposition; and although
chloride of lime and other antiseptic fluids were plentifully scattered in
the room, it was felt to be a service of danger to approach too closely to
the defunct. Many members of Parliament were in attendance, and all of
them, to a man, appeared very visibly shocked by the appearance of the
body. Indeed they all of them seemed to gather a great moral lesson from
the corpse. "We know not whose turn it may be next," was printed in the
largest physiognomical type in every member's countenance.
Thomas Duncombe, Esq., Member for Finsbury, examined--Had known the
deceased for some years. Had the highest notion of the robustness of his
constitution. Would have taken any odds upon it. Deceased, however, within
these last three or four weeks had flighty intervals. Talked very much
about the fine phrenological development of Sir Robert Peel's skull. Had
suspicions of the deceased from that moment. Deceased had been carefully
watched, but to no avail. Deceased inflicted a mortal wound upon himself
on the first night of Sir Robert's premiership; and though he continued to
rally for many evenings, he sunk the night before last, after a dying
speech of twenty minutes.
Colonel Sibthorp, Member for Lincoln, examined--Knew the deceased. Since
the accession of Sir Robert Peel to power had had many conversations with
the deceased upon the ministerial bench. Had offered snuff-box to the
deceased. Deceased did not snuff. Deceased had said that he thought
witness a man of high parliamentary genius, and that Sir Robert Peel ought
to have made him (witness) either Lord Chamberlain or Chancellor of the
Exchequer. In every other respect, deceased behaved himself quite
rationally.
There were at least twenty other witnesses--Members of the House of
Commons--in attendance to be examined; but the Coroner put it to the jury
whether they had not heard enough?
The jury assented, and immediately returned a verdict--_Felo de se_.
N.B. A member for Finsbury wanted next dissolution.
* * * * *
A CURIOUS ERROR.
A member of the American legislature, remarkable for his absence of mind,
exhibited a singular instance of this mental infirmity very lately. Having
to present a petition to the house, he presented _himself_ instead, and
did not discover his mistake until he was
[Illustration: ORDERED TO LIE ON THE TABLE.]
* * * * *
SIR ROBERT PEEL (LOQUITUR).
When erst the Whigs were in, and I was out,
I knew exactly what to be about;
Then all I had to do, through thick and thin,
Was but to get them out, and Bobby in.
And now that I am in, and they are out,
The only thing that I can be about
Is to do nothing; but, through thick and thin,
Contrive to keep them out, and Bobby in.
* * * * *
SONGS FOR THE SEEDY.--No. 3.
Oh! think not all who call thee fair
Are in their honied words sincere;
And if they offer jewels rare,
Lend not too readily thine ear.
The humble ring I lately gave
May be despised by thee--well, let it;
But Mary, when I'm in my grave,
Think that I pawn'd my watch to get it.
Others may talk of feasts of love,
And banqueting upon thy charms;
But did not I devotion prove,
Last Sunday, at the Stanhope Arms?
My rival order'd tea for four,
The waiter at his bidding laid it;
He generously _ran_ the score,
But, Mary, I did more,--_I paid it_.
I know he's dashing, bold, and free,
A front of Jove, an eye of fire;
But should he say he loves like me,
I'd, like Apollo, _strike the lyre_.
He says, he at your feet will throw
His all; and, if his vows are steady,
He cannot equal me--for, oh!
I've given you all I had, already.